


Ghost Girl

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, F/F, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9390152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: When Josh wakes, Tyler is gone. No note, no number or text on his phone, it's like Tyler vanished without a trace.





	

**Author's Note:**

> translation into русский available: [Ghost Girl](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5330328) by [neighvael](https://ficbook.net/authors/418104)

"Hey, open this Capri Sun for me," he says, the pouch in question dangling from forefinger and thumb. The straw's missing.

Josh is sitting on the neighbors' porch, his ass sore from the wooden railing. Legs swinging, shoelaces untied, he stares at the Capri Sun with narrowed eyes and a joint between his lips. The straws open the juice pouches, and Josh is in a sour enough mood to vocalize this, but there's something about the guy standing before him, dressed in leggings and an oversized t-shirt with a gorilla's face on it. Josh doesn't know exactly what it is about him. He doesn't know if he wants to know.

He says, "Sure," and takes the Capri Sun when it's passed to him. Josh pulls his keys from his pocket and works the teeth into the clear impression while the guy hoists himself on the spot of porch railing beside Josh. Tight circles, clockwise, the teeth nibble on the thin plastic until it gives. Some of the clear liquid squirts out, but it's enough to shake away. "Still need a straw," Josh points out, handing the pouch to the guy. "Have a straw?"

"No," he says. He tries sucking anyway, getting it everywhere. It drips down his chin.

Josh sticks his keys into his pocket and pulls out rolling paper next. Identical to what's in his mouth, Josh uses nimble fingers to roll a makeshift straw. "Might not work," he says.

"Don't care."

They're careful with their exchange. Chin still wet, lips pink and bitten, the guy doesn't seem to care he's a mess either. He works the straw into the opening, an easy push of his index finger, and the opening gives again. He has a straw. He sucks.

Josh sucks on his joint. "Want a hit?"

"Yeah." Quieter, "Thank you." He's smiling as he takes a drag, Capri Sun resting in the space between his galaxy-printed thighs. "They used to call me Mary Jane," he says.

"Who?"

Smoke all around his face, he says, "People."

Joint in his possession, Josh sucks, stares. "Is that what I call you?"

"You can call me Tyler."

"You can call me Josh," Josh says, and flicks away ash.

They're each perching on the porch railing, close to each other, enjoying their own choice of poison. Moments like this make Josh want to leave his home more often, even if it's only to the house over. Josh could have stayed in, could have gone to bed early, but he's out, he's in the fresh air—as fresh as it can get with marijuana in his lungs. And he knows the party's inside, and he knows he needs to be social, and he knows, he knows, he knows.

Tyler isn't too concerned he's missing the party. The music is loud enough to be heard from here, so perhaps he thinks it's good enough. Maybe he's applauding himself by just venturing from his home, wherever he hails.

He slurps his Capri Sun.

Josh asks him, "Do you mind if I kiss you?" because the porch light is on, and it bounces off the bridge of Tyler's nose and illuminates Tyler's cheeks, a lovely face shape.

Tyler's blushing. "No, I don't mind."

Josh has Tyler against the siding of the neighbors' house. It's that type of material that leaves white residue all over Tyler's back, more so because his shirt is dark. This is something Tyler doesn't care about, too. Dark, dark eyes, he's looking at Josh, digging into his lips with crooked teeth. Joint and Capri Sun lie abandoned on the wood, the juice steadily escaping from the straw.

"What'cha gonna do?" Tyler asks, because Josh has him against the siding of a house, getting him dirty.

Josh's hands are in Tyler's gorilla shirt, the animal's face wrinkled. Josh stares at Tyler, and he breathes. He breathes, and he leans in, and he kisses. He kisses Tyler's mouth, measured and gentle, much different from the fists in Tyler's shirt, the wide stance of his legs, the tension in his shoulders.

Tyler kisses Josh, and it's shy, tentative. Tyler hovers his hands over the sides of Josh's face, as if he wants to cup Josh's cheeks, as if he wants to hold and cherish, as if he's scared. They hover for several seconds, minutes, eternities. Lips parted and the tips of tongues careful strokes along corners of mouths, Tyler's voice shakes. It hints at the threat of tears. "You're not rough," he whispers. "Y-you haven't tried to fuck me."

"Gimme time," Josh says, and wishes he hadn't.

Tyler's eyes are wet. He raises his leg, hooking it around Josh's waist. "You're not rough," he repeats, and Josh holds the back of Tyler's thigh and kisses him again and again, and he isn't rough. He isn't rough.

Despite all this, the tears fall from Tyler's eyes. When Josh stops kissing him, Tyler wipes them away, furious, staining the skin a raw red. Josh lets him and, again, wishes he hadn't. Tyler moves to the left, out of Josh's line of sight, and, presumably, picks up his Capri Sun. Josh can hear slurping and movement inside the house. The music has shifted to something upbeat—not that it wasn't upbeat before now. This isn't dubstep, and it isn't techno. Josh doesn't know what it is, but it's something that provokes dance. Tyler wants to dance. He's touching the crook of Josh's elbow, the Capri Sun abandoned on the porch railing, empty, sucked dry, Josh's joint next to it merely nothing more than a stub.

"Dance with me," Tyler says, as if it wasn't clear to Josh already.

So, Josh dances with Tyler because the porch light is neon, and it makes the red in Tyler's cheeks glow with radiance. Josh wants to kiss him, but he dances. He dances with Tyler.

It's nothing. It's embarrassing. It's soft.

Tyler and Josh stand in front of the other, palms together, fingertips of a slight pressure as they caress. Josh stares at Tyler, and Tyler stares at Josh. Their bodies swing from side to side, motions that constitute as rocking, as waving.

"Come to mama," the song says.

"Tell me who hurt ya," the song says.

"Touch my hips," Tyler says.

"There's gonna be no future," the song says.

"I will," Josh says.

"If we don't figure this out," the song says.

There's music, there's Josh's hands on Tyler's hips, there's smiling, there's kissing, there's dancing, there's dancing.

"Come back to my place," Tyler whispers, and his eyes aren't wet anymore.

"Dude, my house is right over there."

Tyler stiffens only a little. "Oh." He blinks. "Let's go." He adds, "Dude," and takes Josh's hand in his right and the empty Capri Sun in his left.

The song echoes, "Why do we gotta tell each other how to live? The only prisons that exist are the ones we put each other in."

The song hums, "Why do we gotta tell each other how to live? Look what that rainbow did."

*

Josh's house has two bedrooms, and they're vacant. He moved in last month. He hasn't had time to unpack. He doesn't want to unpack.

Tyler is fiddling with Josh's zipper with his tongue poking into his cheek. "I think it's stuck."

They're standing in the room Josh claimed as his. It has a rainbow flag on the wall and a bed pressed to the corner. Another bed is at the foot of Josh's bed, though this one is smaller and belongs to a cat—a cat that is currently circling Tyler's legs as he fights with Josh's zipper.

"It's stuck," Tyler repeats.

Josh steps backward, and Tyler steps forward, fingers on the zipper and feet mindful of the cat. "Josh," he says, "help me."

"Lemme—sit."

"Just—shit—just gimme permission to—"

"Do it. _Do it._ "

Tyler yanks, and the zipper breaks. Josh thinks he might cry. "Success," Tyler whispers, fist curled and grinning. "Show me your dick."

The cat watches them from the center of the room, the delicate calico of her tail over white paws. She came with the house, free of charge, save for the veterinarian fees to update her shots and get her fixed. As of now, she doesn't have an official name. Josh calls her "Lady" and "Little Lady" when she gets into trouble, which isn't often, but often enough to warrant the designated scolding name.

She's watching Josh shove his pants to his thighs. She's watching Josh lower his gaze, stare at his dick, and then she's blinking at Tyler licking his lips and dropping to his knees and—

Josh touches Tyler's shoulders, holding him at bay. His palms are wet, but so are Tyler's. Tyler probably feels like the most comfortable person in the world, hands to Josh's thighs, his lips parted and waiting, like a damn lap dog.

Heart racing in his chest, it thuds and thuds, loud enough to obscure Josh's hearing. Like a filter or being shoved under water, Josh wonders what would happen if he were to vomit right now. It would get all over Tyler. Tyler is looking at him, expectant. Josh is still touching Tyler's shoulders. He lets go. "Do you know what's fucked up?"

Tyler shakes his head. "What?"

Josh can't say it. "I-I'll tell you later."

Tyler raises an eyebrow. "Okay."

They need to move past this. "Can I just, like, swallow your dick whole? While you suck on mine?" Josh bites his lip, chews.

Tyler pushes himself from the floor. In one swift motion, he pulls his shirt over his head as Josh works on his leggings. Tyler isn't wearing anything under them. That's okay. Tyler's crawling onto the bed, kissing Josh, and more clothes flutter to the carpet. Lady blinks and sniffs at them, then leaves the room to give them privacy and to inspect the shoes left in the living room. She likes rubbing her scent over shoes.

Josh wanted oral sex, but he doesn't get oral sex. Tyler tells him, "You can blow me later," and then Tyler's kissing him, hugging him, over the bed covers, under the bed covers. Rolling, twisting, their cocks rub against each other, twitching, leaking.

They rut and rut and rut, and Josh is on top, and Tyler's leg is around Josh's waist, squeezing, pulling, holding, and Josh comes, and Tyler comes, and they kiss, kiss, and kiss some more.

Sheets pulled from their corners, pillows tossed by their feet, Josh hasn't had this sort of sex in ages. It feels good to lose himself in all of this again—casual sex, _intimacy_. Tyler lies next to Josh, an arm behind his head, looking at the flag on the wall, focusing on each individual strip of color.

"What's fucked up?" he asks then, fixing the blanket around them after they lick their stomachs clean. He's watching Josh roll a joint on the mattress, and even takes it upon himself to reach over, not moving from the bed, and pluck the lighter from the back pocket of Josh's jeans.

"Thanks," Josh mumbles, licking the paper. Lady catches his eye. She's in the doorway, swiping her paw over her ear.

Tyler returns to lying down, gripping the edge of the blanket as he sticks his arm back behind his head. "What's fucked up?" he repeats, a quieter voice this time. He's giving Josh the opportunity to not hear him.

But Josh hears. He hears. "Do you know what's fucked up?" He's giving Tyler the opportunity to put words in his mouth.

But Tyler doesn't guess. He asks, "What's fucked up?"

Josh holds out the joint, and Tyler takes it with no hesitation. He waits patiently, studying Josh with the joint between his lips. Stretched out on his stomach, Josh leans his weight on his forearms and picks at his nails. He thought pot would have helped settle his stomach, but it feels sicker than ever. Nerves get to him, and Josh begins to shake, begins to cry. He presses his hands to his face. Won't look, can't look, Josh whispers, "I think I'm a girl."

Quiet, so quiet, Tyler whispers, too. "Hey," he whispers, and turns onto his side, handing back the joint.

Josh takes it and still doesn't look. He doesn't talk. He cries and inhales a small drag. Lady pads away, the bell on her collar small.

Tyler props up his head with a hand, eyes half-lidded and fuzzy. His hair is cut close to his scalp, brown, soft; and his lips are red from too much kissing. He looks enchanting. "Hey." The nudge to Josh's arm is done with a gentle elbow. "Wanna hear something fucked up?"

Josh exhales like a dragon. "That despite knowing each other for about two hours, we've both cried in front of each other?" He wipes his eyes and passes the joint to the left.

"Yeah." Tyler scoots a little closer, flicking ashes onto the floor. "That, and something else." There's a pause, almost like Tyler forgets what he's going to say.

"Okay," he says, finally. "I think I'm a girl, too."

*

When Josh wakes, Tyler is gone. No note, no number or text on his phone, it's like Tyler vanished without a trace.

Lady is in his place. Josh curls up behind her, and she begins to purr.

*

The neighbors have friends over again tonight. Josh sits on their porch railing, legs swinging, nursing his anxiety with more weed. It's working to some degree. He doesn't feel okay enough to go inside and converse. He's okay out here, early summer heat and skunk.

"Hey, open this bag for me." It's Tyler. He's standing in front of Josh, a bag of nacho cheese Bugles held out for Josh to open.

"Couldn't get a good grip?" Josh and Tyler exchange.

"Nah. Just rubbed lotion on my hands." He puffs a little on the joint.

"Smells like vanilla."

Tyler smiles at that, and Josh doesn't know why. He opens the bag of chips and steals a handful. Tyler and Josh exchange again. Like the night before, Tyler's wearing a leggings-and-t-shirt combo. Skeleton print on his legs, the tights cling to his thighs and calf muscles. He's wearing a yellow shirt with a snake on it, but instead of the usual "don't tread on me" slogan, it reads "please please _please_ tread on me". Josh wonders how he's supposed to take it.

Hoisting himself on the railing, Tyler and Josh repeat their posture from yesterday. This time, though, Tyler eats Bugles. He puts some on his fingertips and pretends he has witch's nails. Josh smiles, and Tyler smiles with him.

They're quiet as Tyler munches and Josh smokes. More music plays, and Josh says, "Is this country? It kinda sounds like country, but…"

"It's not." Tyler shrugs. "Not totally."

"So, when I'm feeling small," Josh hears from inside the house, "I toss that cork and call all the Pinot."

"Pinot Grigio, girls," Josh hears beside him, "pour your heart out."

"Watch your blues turn gold," Tyler whispers.

"All the Pinot, Pinot Grigio, girls," Tyler hums.

Josh grinds the end of his joint into the spot of wood next to him and flicks the butt into the bushes. "Do you wanna dance?"

Tyler tips the bag's crumbs into his mouth and says, "Yes. Just lemme throw this away." When he goes inside the house, the music gets louder for a moment. Josh spots red cups and swaying hips, and then Tyler's back, touching Josh's hips. "It's your turn."

"It's my turn." Josh wraps his arms around Tyler's shoulders. Tyler smells like vanilla, and he tastes like nacho cheese. It's gross. Tyler kisses him. It's gross. More tongue, more drool, Tyler has Josh pressed against the neighbors' house.

"Your place?" Tyler asks, and Josh nods and says, "My place."

*

No oral, just rutting, just grinding, and Tyler is gone by morning.

Josh cries, and Lady curls into his neck.

*

Third time's the charm, Josh tells himself as he heads over to the neighbor's house once it turns dark. Josh sits on the porch steps and rolls his nightly joint.

The screen door opens and shuts. "Look, if you're gonna keep loitering like this, at least come inside and join us." It's one of his neighbors. Mark, Josh thinks that's his name. Mark's standing behind Josh, arms over his chest and looking down at him.

"I'm fine out here."

"I know I told you it was okay for you to smoke, but…" Mark shakes his head. "I don't mind. I really don't care, but you might have more fun inside, with the rest of us."

"I'm fine out here," Josh repeats. Then, "Have you seen Tyler?" Mark must be a mutual friend. Why else would Tyler be here every time Josh is here?

However, Mark frowns and knits his brows together. "Tyler?"

"Shaved head. Looks tired all the time. Leggings."

" _Oh_. I didn't—I didn't know. She told me her name was Mary Jane." Mark is frowning still. "I haven't seen her tonight. Sorry."

Josh murmurs, "Mary Jane," and Mark says, "Yeah," and Josh says, "I'm fine out here."

Mark goes inside. Josh inhales.

*

An hour later, Mark tries again. "Please, Josh, come inside. I know we're not, like, _close_ , but I don't want—"

"I'm fine out here, Mark." Josh sits, finished smoking, his hands gripping his knees. "I… I don't know anybody in there."

"We're drinking. It doesn't matter."

So, Josh stands and follows Mark into the house. His stomach doesn't churn, and his head doesn't throb. He can do this.

Mark gives him a beer can, and Josh doesn't have any more doubts. He drinks, and he forgets. He drinks, and he laughs. He isn't lonely for the rest of the night.

*

He wakes in his bed, feeling as if he were being watched. Josh tugs the blanket over his head and closes his eyes.

*

It's Monday.

Josh works today. He works the next day and the day after that.

He folds clothes and organizes the basket of buttons by the register, always pricking his fingers in the process. Over time, he stops bleeding.

Josh works today, and he works until Friday.

His days run together. So many faces pass through the store, so many expressions—happy, bored, irritated, sad. Josh sees a lot of sad people, mostly young women. They try to hide their tears, but Josh can see past the flitting glances and chewed-up lips.

"Do you need any help?" Josh always asks, and they always refuse it at first, but then they end up saying, "Excuse me?" and Josh helps. He always helps.

Color, shape, fabric, it comes easy to Josh. "How about this?" He smiles, and they will smile back.

"Yes."

Josh never sees them again. It's okay.

He goes home every night and falls into bed, sucking on a joint until his body is fuzzy enough to sleep peacefully. And even then, Josh forces himself to stay awake. He needs to unpack. He doesn't want to unpack.

Lady plays with a sock in the hallway. Josh thinks about Tyler.

*

For another weekend in a row, Josh sits on the neighbors' porch and smokes pot. Mark waves at him from the screen door, but doesn't go out to tell him to come inside. Maybe Mark will tomorrow, or the night after.

Tyler is wearing the snake shirt again, paired with simple black leggings. This time, he has a Kool-Aid Cooler in his hands, his hands smelling of vanilla. He doesn't need to ask; they're already exchanging, joint and juice. Josh twists off the cap, and Tyler puffs.

"Thanks," he says. He holds the slim plastic bottle and watches Josh fiddle with the topper in his fist. Josh turns it in his hand while the other holds his joint.

"No problem," Josh whispers.

The music for this evening is soft and makes Tyler sway on the spot. He's standing between Josh's legs, from where Josh sits on the porch railing. Tyler drinks, Tyler smiles, and Tyler says, "Doing okay?"

Josh nods. He aims his smoke away from Tyler's face. "Better now, since you're here."

Tyler leans forward, a hand to the side of Josh's neck. "You're sweet."

Josh gives his next inhale to Tyler. Their lips seal, and Tyler giggles, but Tyler takes it all. Josh reaches down and grabs Tyler's ass, dropping the plastic bottle topper to the flooring, pulling, holding, cradling, smiling. Josh is smiling, and Tyler is smiling, too. Against each other's lips, marijuana smoke escaping from their cracks, Josh kisses Tyler, and Tyler kisses Josh.

"Please," Josh starts, separating to let Tyler sip at his juice. "Please lemme blow you tonight."

Tyler's shoulders are small as they go up and down in a short shrug. "Maybe I'll let you fuck me tonight."

"We have all night." Josh touches Tyler's waist and drags his palm up and down Tyler's side. Tyler's skin is dark through a hole in the shirt's collar.

Another drink, eyes dark, Tyler grins. The Kool-Aid stains his teeth. "Your place or mine?"

*

They settle for Josh's.

Tyler is as timid as ever. He's still sipping his Kool-Aid, about a quarter of the way done. Josh and he toe off their shoes in the living room, Lady perching on the couch in wait. Her ears are flat against her head, little nostrils flaring. She pokes about their socks, particularly Tyler's.

"She might, like, play with that."

"That's okay." Tyler shrugs. He follows Josh into the bedroom. "Smells more like pot in here."

"Yeah, well, if I smoke in the house, I try to contain it to here." Josh flips on his bedside lamp.

Tyler sits on the bed. "Is it medicinal?"

"Self-prescribed."

"If you want me to, like… I could make it so it was prescribed."

Josh narrows his eyes. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I work at a clinic." Tyler squeezes the bottle, the liquid inside rising a couple inches.

"So, you're a doctor? Or a nurse. Or something."

"Receptionist." Tyler's tone is disappointment itself. He doesn't meet Josh's eye.

Josh gets on the bed, sitting next to Tyler. "Hey, dude, that's pretty cool. Must meet interesting people."

Tyler is quiet.

Josh slowly closes his eyes. "I, I… I'm sorry for calling you 'dude'. Sometimes it slips out."

"No, it's okay. It's just… one of those words that…"

"Yeah."

Tyler hands him the Kool-Aid Cooler and says, "I think I want you to fuck me tonight."

"You think, or you know?" Josh takes a drink.

"Think." Tyler kisses Josh's cheek, down to his neck. "Maybe I'll know for sure after I'm warmed up a bit."

"We have all night," Josh reminds Tyler, setting the bottle on the side table. Tyler's crawling, following, and he's kissing Josh's neck, biting Josh's neck, and Josh is shoving his hands down the back of Tyler's leggings.

"Shut up." Tyler's eyes are closed, his face hiding in Josh's neck. "I— _shit_ —I just want to listen to—"

"Yeah."

Kissing, shifting, Tyler straddles Josh's hips, both of his hands touching the pillow Josh's head rests upon, not once thinking to move them to Josh's hair, or to stroke along Josh's side, his arms, to tangle their fingers together.

Along with the sounds of their lips disconnecting, reconnecting, and their breaths getting caught in the heat of the moment, Tyler listens to Josh cry.

"I'm sorry." Tyler leans in and presses kiss after kiss to Josh's forehead.

Josh wipes his eyes, sniffs. " _I'm_ sorry."

"Never apologize for crying."

"Okay."

They're kissing again, no hesitation. Josh works Tyler's leggings to his thighs. Like the other encounters with the backs of Tyler's thighs, Josh finds fine hair and Braille. With a swipe of a thumb, Tyler sighs. "Lemme move, so you can take these off, okay?"

"Okay."

Tyler moves into the space beside Josh, sitting proper, and Josh does the same. He removes Tyler's leggings the rest of the way as Tyler pulls his shirt over his head. Their lips connect for a second, just enough time before they work on getting Josh undressed.

"Blow me," Tyler says, and Josh can only say, "Okay," because he's warm around Tyler, because he's vulnerable, because he's already in too deep.

Josh swallows Tyler whole, and Tyler does the very same.

"Stop," Tyler says. "More. I want more."

There's a brief lapse to allow Josh to find lube. Tyler uses this downtime to finish the rest of his Kool-Aid Cooler.

"Do you want me to wear a condom?" It sounds like a stupid question, considering they hadn't used protection for oral, but Tyler doesn't think so.

"Yeah, please. I, uh… I don't like it when…"

"No, I get it." Josh plucks out one and returns to the bed. "Okay, so—"

"Finger me."

"Fucking romantic."

Tyler says it's more comfortable if he's on all fours. Tyler says he's taken a whole fist before and decided it didn't feel as good as a dick.

"If we're, y'know, being completely honest with each other."

Josh stretches Tyler until he's able to take three with ease. Tyler's a trembling, whining mess by then, only quieting once Josh is fully pressed inside him, hips to ass, back to chest.

"Right there, right there," Tyler whispers, tears in his eyes. "Yeah."

Condom filled and in the bin, Tyler sleeps soundly. Scratch marks down his back, a bite on his shoulder, Tyler is peaceful. With the lamp now off, the moon is all that Josh needs to appreciate the pink in Tyler's cheeks and the slope of Tyler's nose.

He almost doesn't mind waking to an empty bed.

*

They fuck again.

Josh is on his way over to Mark's when Tyler approaches his front door. Conversation isn't needed. They know exactly what they want.

Tyler is on Josh's lap this time, and he rocks back and forth and sucks on Josh's neck in four places. It's gross and a little endearing. When it's all over, Tyler snores, and Josh pretends to not be sore at the sight of Lady and her flickering tail in the early morning light.

*

It happens again—or, at least, that's what Josh is inclined to believe at the knocking on his front door.

He's sitting in his bedroom, sorting out old books, Lady sleeping on the unmade bed, when he hears the knock.

And it's Tyler. Of course it's Tyler.

Josh thinks they're in an alternate universe because Tyler is in jeans and a thin jacket. Plain, the gray color is soothing, and paired with the rain outside, it's welcome.

"Oh," Josh says, "it's raining."

"Can I come in?" Tyler looks miserable, dripping wet with his hood over his head.

"Sure."

All three of them occupy Josh's room. Lady on the bed and Tyler and Josh on the floor, it's as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Lady purrs, Josh shelves books, and Tyler rummages through boxes. Pressed against the wall, Josh kept them out of the way—and out of sight—to keep himself from bumping into them—and to keep himself from taking the next step to making this place his home.

Tyler finds a yo-yo and absently plays with it. "First time living on your own?"

"Kind of. I used to live with a friend, but he…" Josh shakes his head. "He was an asshole."

Tyler loses control of the toy and winces at the hard plastic hitting his kneecap. "Sucks."

"What about you? What's your… living situation?"

"With friends. Renting the house two doors down."

Josh blinks. "You live on the other side of Mark?"

"Yeah." Tyler winds the string back around the yo-yo, standing to return it to its original box. He goes through more boxes, setting down one after the other and peering into the rips of cardboard to guess what could be held inside. Josh has stopped shelving to quietly sit on the carpet and watch Tyler during his lurking. Oblivious, Tyler fiddles with the zipper on his jacket as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. No ounce of privacy in his body, Tyler rises on his toes to lift Josh's old record player from its box. Tyler hugs it. Tyler holds it. He's gentle, delicate, and he places it on the floor with as much poise as if he were handling an infant.

Josh doesn't even try to fight his smile.

Tyler blows off dust and stands again. He finds vinyls next. Josh slides in another book. "Gonna play something?"

"If you have anything good." Tyler smiles, and Josh doesn't stop smiling.

Thunder rolls more steadily now. Tyler's becoming comfortable, removing his jacket and tossing it aside, dropping to his hands and knees to ready the turntable. From this distance, Josh can't tell exactly what Tyler's picked, but considering what Josh likes to listen to, he imagines it's something his parents wouldn't have approved.

It plays. Tyler crawls toward the boxes. _Enema of the State_ peeks out from under Tyler's jacket.

Josh doesn't feel like shelving books anymore, so he watches Tyler go through more of his possessions. Box after box, it never once dawns on Josh what Tyler might discover within the confinements, or how he might react. Despite the thudding in his chest, Josh reminds himself of their first night together, of them lying side by side and sharing a joint and a secret.

Josh keeps quiet.

Tyler pulls out a clothing box, old, typical around Christmas time, and treats it with as much respect as the record player. There are more boxes like the one Tyler has, but based on the boxes alone, Josh can't tell what is inside which box. Until Tyler opens it, Josh is in the dark. He's chewing on his lip, a stack of books by his feet, needing to be shelved, and yet Josh is sat here watching Tyler, watching him unbox a wig with care and the tiniest bit of uncertainty.

His eyes are dark. They stare at Josh, at the other side of the bedroom. "Can I?" he asks.

"Sure."

Tyler's hands are shaking. He doesn't need a mirror to properly place the wig on his head. Hair a close crop, it's like Tyler has done this more times than Josh will ever know. Even with the way he straightens it and pats the back of his head is masterful. "Yeah?" Tone hopeful and shy, Tyler's fingers tremble.

Bought on a whim and, according to his parents, for a friend, the wig is white-blonde, long with curls, and remarkably better than the retail version sold near Halloween. Josh didn't know why he wanted a blonde wig, seeing as he already had one, but he knew if he had to have another one, it'd have to be one that mimicked that of Daenerys Targaryen.

Tyler looks odd with blonde hair. The curls frame his face, make it longer, and at the same time, smaller. Tyler is encased with hair, too much, not enough, Josh doesn't know for sure. "Yeah," he says, because he left Tyler hanging.

Tyler looks odd with blonde hair. He isn't ethereal. He isn't a masterpiece. He looks odd. Even without looking at his reflection, Tyler acts as if he feels off, unsteady. "Yeah," he repeats, and takes out another box, this a little more beat up. Inside is an early wig, light blonde and stiff, short, Josh's first wig. Tyler slowly runs his fingers through the strands, working out whatever tangles it might have obtained from its stay in the box. "Do you…?"

"Sure." That's the only word in Josh's vocabulary. He stays on the floor, letting Tyler knee-walk over with the wig in his still shaking hands.

"Here," he whispers.

Unlike Tyler, Josh has a full head of hair. Dark, thick, curls to die for if he ever managed the upkeep, Josh either went with wigs that had bangs—like the one Tyler's holding—or he always made sure to wear hats with the wigs. It wasn't strange, since Josh almost always wears hats when he's out somewhere. They also made him feel safe, even the slightest amount.

With this wig on, straightened by Tyler and inspected by Tyler, Josh is safe.

Josh doesn't know why he has two blonde wigs. Maybe it's because it's the opposite of his natural color. Maybe it's because he wanted more attention. Maybe it's because the yellow straw on his head would distract from the stubble on his face or the cock in his pants.

"This is when I ask about your plans for transitioning." Tyler sinks to the floor, sitting gracelessly. No matter how long Josh stares, he can't get used to Tyler with white hair.

"Transitioning?" Josh gapes like a fish and feels his heart skip a beat. "Oh, _transitioning_."

"This is also when I say you don't have to transition." Tyler tucks hair behind his ear, and that's it. That's what Josh was waiting for, for some bizarre reason. It's better like this, whatever this is.

"I don't have to transition," Josh parrots.

"I like my flat chest," Tyler says, which causes Josh to drop his eyes to said flat chest. Tyler's wearing a shirt with a wolf on it, purple. Josh should find this laughable, but he doesn't laugh. "Do you know what else?" Tyler's eyebrow perks right up, coyly smiling. "I like my dick, too."

Josh is weightless. "I like my dick, too." It sounds like a copycat, but it's a realization. "I like my body. It's just that I think I—it's— _passing_." He sighs. "Sometimes I want to be able to pass."

"Why?"

Cat got his tongue. Josh furrows his brow. Lady hops off the bed and walks from the room, still somewhat asleep but more concerned with a rumble in her belly.

Tyler takes Josh's silence as an answer. "I understand the desire to look more feminine. When I started figuring things out, I shaved everything. I thought… well, you know what I thought. You're in the same boat right now, but you're in a better place; I didn't have anybody to talk to about this. My parents…" Tyler shakes his head. "I needed to hear I didn't have to change to fit everybody else's idea of a 'woman'. Took me forever to realize it. I'm happy with who I am. I'm a hairy girl. I don't have curves. I don't _want_ curves. I don't want to change my name either. My name is Tyler, and I'm a girl."

Tyler takes Josh's hand, fingers lacing together and squeezing. "So, this is when you talk to me."

No, Tyler doesn't look odd with the wig. Josh wishes he could pull those thoughts back into his head because Tyler doesn't look strange. He's absolutely beautiful.

Josh wipes his eyes, swift, trying to appear he's in control. "First, though, okay?" He holds up a finger. "Mark, uh, told me you told him your name was Mary Jane."

Tyler breaks into a shit-eating grin. "Okay. I was scared. He thought I was a cis girl. Couldn't tell him my name was Tyler, not right then. My friend, one of the guys I'm living with, he bumped in and said 'Mary Jane' because we were all smoking pot, and he thought it was funny."

"It is funny."

"Anything else?"

"Pronouns?"

Tyler ducks his head down, plays with Josh's fingers. He's waiting, prolonging.

Josh prods. "Is this when you tell me despite being a girl, your pronouns are still 'he'?" He thinks he's teasing.

But Tyler frowns. "No." The frown slowly turns into a small smile. "No, my pronouns are 'she'. I want to try those, if that's okay."

"Don't have to ask permission."

"I know." Tyler raises her head, pushing more hair behind her ear. "You?"

Josh is sick. Josh isn't sick. "I think I want to try 'she', too."

"Great."

And now—"I don't want to transition. I like my body. I don't want to change it. I don't want to change my name either. My name is Josh."

Tyler cups Josh's cheek with her free hand, her thumb a careful caress. "This is when I say you're perfect."

Josh rolls her eyes.

Tyler laughs. "And this is when you find me a juice box."

Josh laughs, too.

"The choice was mine; I didn't think enough," the record drones.

"I'm too depressed to go on," the record echoes.

"You'll be sorry when I'm gone," the record cries.

*

Tyler receives the bad news after Josh spends ten minutes going through the kitchen.

"I don't have any juice."

"You're joking."

"I do have hot chocolate. Do you want me to fix you a mug?"

On the floor, currently shelving the rest of Josh's books, Tyler sticks out her bottom lip and pouts. "I don't recall asking you for hot chocolate."

"What do you want me to do, then?"

It's obvious.

"It's raining," Josh says as an excuse, the pitter-patter more audible now with the music gone.

Assurance, Tyler says. "I'll be with you."

"But… we're wearing…" Josh waves her hands, unable to comprehend wigs are detachable.

"I'll be with you," Tyler repeats, once again as assurance. "Josh, I'll be with you."

Josh breathes and goes to find a jacket and shoes.

*

She smashes a baseball cap over her head and lets Tyler fix the hood on her jacket. The material is sleek and lets the rain slide off, wash away, nothing. Josh feels sick.

Tyler holds her hand on the way to the gas station down the street. Josh feels safe.

They go down the aisles, clinging to each other, both with their hoods over their heads and shivering in their skinny jeans. Tyler is nearly soaked to the bone, her jacket made of cloth. "Should have let you borrow one of mine," Josh points out, slowly dragging down the zipper before yanking it back up to her chin. She has a spot of stubble there.

"It's fine," Tyler says, teeth chattering. They're in front of the freezers, looking, not looking. "You okay?" Tyler asks, hands in her pockets and the ends of the wig unable to be contained in the hood, as damp as her cheeks.

"Amazing." Josh doesn't stop herself from kissing Tyler's chin, a peck there, and then another peck on her lips, and then another peck on her lips, and then another one.

Tyler's eyes are shut, her lashes long and dark. Her mouth is open, parted, and Josh wants inside. "Another one," she whispers, and Josh gives her another one.

They're alone. Tyler grabs Josh's arm.

They're not alone. "Just get a thing of apple juice." Tyler shrugs a shoulder. "Maybe some straws. Big ones. Long ones."

A man sits at the register, on his phone, scrolling through Twitter. He's bored, and he looks at Tyler and Josh with disinterest. "This all?" He scans the juice.

"Yep," Josh says, because it's short. Tyler's behind her, palm resting on the small of Josh's back.

The man scans the straws next.

"We don't need a bag," Josh says, because it's necessary.

The man blinks. He stares at Josh, and he stares at Tyler. "Cool hair," he tells Tyler, and he tells Josh the total.

And that's it.

On their way out, he says, "Have a nice night, ladies," and it isn't malicious. It isn't hateful. It's casual, and that's it.

It's stopped raining. There's a somewhat dry spot beneath a streetlight in front of Mark's house. They sit, legs stretched out, and pass the thin jug of apple juice between the pair of them, slurping on straws, touching fingers, blushing.

"Why did you cry when we had sex?"

Tyler pushes the hood off her head. "I haven't been that intimate with another person for a while."

Josh smile is a little quirk. She takes off her hood, too, but keeps on the hat. The weight of the cap makes the wig a little longer, making the ends stroke along the back of her neck. Tyler's lips and teeth left their mark just last night as Tyler sat in her lap. "Do you want to have sex again? Tonight?" Josh holds the apple juice, not drinking, but allowing the tip of the straw to rest against her bottom lip. "Is that why you came over?"

"I came over because you weren't at Mark's."

"It was raining."

"Yeah." Tyler takes the juice. "Would you like to?"

"What?"

"Have sex with me again."

"Yes."

Tyler smiles, smug.

"I think I might cry," Josh says, seemingly out of nowhere, but Tyler knows what she meant.

"It's okay to cry during sex." She holds out the juice for Josh.

Josh doesn't take it. Tyler doesn't actually know what Josh meant.

"Right now." Josh's vision is already blurry. "I'm going to cry right now."

Tyler sets the juice on the sidewalk between her thighs and scoots over, scoots closer, and Josh's head falls to her shoulder. She cries, silently, into Tyler's jacket, not even giving it a chance to dry.

"Tell me what's wrong," Tyler says.

"Nothing's wrong." Josh closes her eyes. "Everything's okay."

"It's okay to cry," Tyler says, and rubs Josh's back in gentle circles. She turns her head at the opening of the door and looks at Mark on his porch. Josh doesn't move. She continues to cry.

"Mary Jane?" Mark sounds unsure. "Do you need help?"

"We're okay."

"Who's that with you?"

"Josh," Tyler says. "We're okay." Quickly, she adds, "Mark, my name's Tyler. Not Mary Jane."

Josh looks up, then, and glances at Mark. From here, even if she squints, Josh can't see Mark's expression. Judging by his laughter, it's good.

"Got it, Tyler," Mark says, and goes inside.

Tyler drinks more apple juice. Josh returns her head to Tyler's shoulder. "I don't want to transition," she mumbles.

"You don't have to transition." Tyler blows bubbles and presses her cheek to the top of Josh's hat.

"No one's going to take me seriously if I don't, though."

"I will. Josh, if you say you're a girl, then you're a girl. That's all you need to prove that you're a girl. You don't need to wear dresses. You don't need to put on makeup. You don't need to have long hair. You don't need to shave. You don't need tits. You don't need a cunt. You don't need a uterus. You don't need—"

"I need you."

Tyler hugs Josh. It's a tight squeeze, but it's everything to Josh.

"You can have me."

They fall asleep in Josh's bed, wigs still on and a new record as a lullaby. Tyler says Josh can have her, and yet, in the morning, Tyler is gone.

She left the wig behind. At this point, Josh thinks she can be grateful for that.

*

Josh goes to work. She doesn't wear a wig. She doesn't look feminine, but a girl shopping for a bathing suit calls Josh "ma'am" after she helps choose a color that will pair well with dark skin. All Josh can think about is Tyler. She smiles at the girl, and the girl makes to correct herself. Josh tells her it's okay.

And she smiles, too, because somehow she understands. Kids and teens are the most tolerant.

At home, Josh unpacks a little at a time. The record player stays on the floor, and Josh keeps the wig boxes in a more accessible location.

She smokes in bed and sleeps with Lady curled underneath the blankets.

Days are short, and the nights are long. Josh realizes she doesn't have Tyler's number.

*

When it's the weekend, Josh sits on a porch that isn't hers and smokes enough pot to make her stomach quell.

She doesn't see Tyler at all.

Saturday night, late, on her way back to her house, Mark touches her arm and asks if she's okay. "It's just that you didn't come inside."

"I was fine out here."

Lady is on the bed, standing, looking caught in the act with a sock hanging from her mouth. She ends up cuddling up to it as she sleeps.

Josh munches on potato chips and moves the empty boxes to the spare room. As of now, the room will stay a spare, mostly for storage. In the future, it might be something more. Lady doesn't deserve a whole room to herself, no matter how cute she might be. And if Josh were to get a roommate… well, depending on who it is, Josh will gladly accept a sleeping partner, along with a bundle of calico fur in her face.

Joint between her lips, Josh sits on her bed and wonders if she'll ever feel at home.

*

She runs out of weed on Sunday.

Phone in her hand, turning it, pressing the top and then the bottom against her thigh, Josh has the conversation with her dealer open if she were to unlock her phone. But she doesn't. Because she wants to try something. It's unlikely it'll work, seeing as she could potentially be running around the city for hours on end, but she has to try. She has to try.

She's scared.

*

She's so scared.

It's the first clinic Josh drove to after getting off work. That's what frightens her the most, since she swears she sees the back of Tyler's head as Tyler steps from the front desk to disappear into a room Josh will never be allowed to enter.

"Can I help you?" Another girl is at the front desk, the computer next to her empty, the computer Tyler would have been at if Josh didn't spend ten minutes in her car talking over her game plan. But she's here, and at the sight of Tyler walking away, Josh's plan wavers, and her mouth opens and closes, stammering.

"Do you have an appointment?" the girl prompts.

"No," Josh says. "I, I… Does Tyler work here? I need to talk to—" Josh doesn't finish. She doesn't know.

"Oh, Tyler? Yeah, she just went on her break. Should be back in a half hour or so." _She does know_.

Josh shuffles her feet. "Can you get her for me? It's important."

Narrow eyes and a quirk of her mouth, the girl doesn't make a move to stand and get Tyler. She stays put and tilts her head to the side. "And who are you?"

"I—" Josh curls her fingers, slowly uncurls them. "I'm her girlfriend. I think. Nothing official yet, but we've talked about it."

Something flashes across her face. It grows softer, and before she can say another word, the door behind her opens, and Tyler steps out, exasperated and shaking her head. "Left my keys."

"Tyler," the girl mutters, but Tyler raises her head and spots Josh.

Tyler's smile is the brightest thing in the world. "Hey, Josh! What's up?"

Josh is infected. She smiles, too. "You busy?"

"Nah. About to go on break. Just need to find my keys."

The girl has Tyler's keys, and she swings them on her finger. "Think you knocked them onto the floor after loading the printer with paper."

"Sounds like me." Tyler takes the keys. "Thanks, Jenna." Then, to Josh, "Meet me in the back parking lot, okay? We can talk there."

Josh manages to catch a glimpse of the girl—Jenna—for a last time. She's smiling. Of course she would be smiling.

Tyler's leaning on a car, staring at her shoes. She's wearing khakis and a simple blue cardigan. She looks like a grandmother. "What'd you want, Josh?"

"Does your offer for writing me that prescription still stand?"

She huffs, supposed to be a laugh, but instead she shakes her head and closes her eyes, face turned up to the sun hiding behind the clouds. "Is that all you wanted from me?"

"Also wanted to see you. You know. I care about you."

Tyler crosses her arms over her chest. "But you want pot more."

"Maybe if we actually hung out more than every other weekend fucking, then I'd deny that. Maybe if I had other methods to alleviate my anxiety."

"No." Tyler frowns. "No, you need pot for that. Best thing. If you have pot, you don't need me."

"Shut up." Josh has no control. She's stepping forward, and Tyler reacts in earnest. Josh hugs Tyler, her cheek pressed to Tyler's shoulder, her arms around Tyler's waist.

"You started it." Tyler rubs Josh's back. "You've been so kind to me, Josh." A realization, but it isn't a realization at the same time. Nothing indicates that this is a revelation—no change of tone, no pause in the movement along Josh's shoulder blades. Tyler is talking. She's just talking. "I'll get you a prescription."

"Thanks."

"Come over to my house tonight," Tyler adds. "We can work on… that other thing."

"Okay."

Tyler presses a kiss to Josh's forehead at their parting. Josh is shaking. "Wait," she says, "gimme your phone number."

Tyler does.

*

Josh's first text to Tyler is _Thank you_. Josh has weed—prescribed, no less, and she feels good.

Tyler says, _no prob_ , and _you can come over now_.

 _Right next to Mark?_ Josh asks, _just making sure_.

 _Yes_.

It's dark out. Josh breathes easily. Lady had taken residence on her unmade bed, stretching across the sheets and showing off a fuzzy tummy.

Josh passes under the lone streetlight on her way to Tyler's. The walk isn't long. She expects it to last longer, as if her subconscious would be holding her back, but it isn't. It's pushing her forward, encouraging her to go and get whatever she wants.

As she approaches the front door, she hears faint music. Not a party, not like the music that would come from Mark's during the weekend, it's serving as background music for the occupants living here. Josh only knows Tyler lives with friends, but anything further than that is up in the air.

Josh knocks. Tyler opens it almost immediately, dressed in an absurd Taco Bell sauce packet t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. Knee-high red socks and a baby-blue wig cut in a sharp bob complete the look. She is absolutely ridiculous, and yet Josh can't help but smile.

Tyler's hand comes up, slowly pushing the wig from her head. "Sorry. Just got it in the mail."

"No, you look good."

Tyler puts it back on. "You're… I, I mean, you seem like you… you're okay."

The wig's a little crooked, so Josh fixes it for her. "I'm okay."

"Tyler!" someone says, out of Josh's line of sight. "Close the damn door, you're letting the AC out."

Tyler ignores whoever spoke and continues talking to Josh, quietly offering, "Do you want to spend the night?"

If this were anyone else, Josh would have told them to slow down, that they need to decide the mood before jumping forward with suggestions like this. But this is Tyler, and it's already late, and Josh made sure Lady had fresh water and food before coming over here, so Josh nods, and she smiles again. "Yes."

" _Tyler_."

Josh steps inside when Tyler lets her in and stands behind Tyler. A fearsome protector, Tyler is tall and proud. "Nick, chill out."

The guy, Nick, is on the couch with Mark, visiting. Game controllers rest in their laps as they stare at Tyler. Nick seems like he's been chilling out for some time. "Oh," he says, and points lazily with a foot as he sets it on his knee opposite. "This the chick you were telling us about?"

Josh is weak in the knees. She stays strong.

Tyler says, "Yeah, this is Josh."

"Hey, Josh," Mark says.

Nick nods as a greeting.

Josh waves.

Tyler doesn't say anything else, and Nick and Mark go back to their game. Tyler takes Josh's hand, and they walk around the back of the couch, stepping over clutter that can only hint the place is habitable. It's natural, just a little disorganized. The kitchen is worse. Josh glances inside once they pass it, and the dirty dishes and pizza boxes do not escape her vision.

"Hungry?" Tyler asks.

"No, I'm fine."

"No munchies?"

Josh laughs. "No."

They meet another guy in the hallway, another one of Tyler's roommates. Tyler says, "Hey, Chris," and Chris says, "Hey, Tyler," and they continue on their way.

Tyler's room is neater than Josh would come to expect from the other rooms in the house. It would make sense, though, for the areas used to more than one person occupying it at a time to stay relatively tidy. Tyler shuts the door, letting go of Josh's hand, and Josh becomes suddenly aware of what exactly might happen tonight between her and Tyler.

"Want one?" Tyler goes into her closet, tossing aside boxes until one captures her interest.

"What?"

As soon as it leaves her mouth, Josh realizes her question is stupid. Tyler has a wig in her hands. The same length as the one she has on now—it may be from the same company—the wig is pink, soft, and reminds Josh of cotton candy.

"You said I didn't have to have long hair to be a girl."

"You don't." Tyler looks betrayed. She frowns. "But wigs are fun."

Josh can't argue with that. She lets Tyler place the wig on her head. Josh has thought about dying her hair this color to begin with, so this is a nice trial run.

Tyler sits on her bed while Josh studies her appearance in Tyler's full-body mirror, attached to the front of the closet door. Overall, Josh is content with the way she looks. The ends of the wig curl into her chin. It has bangs that reach her eyebrows. She thinks she might cry before the night comes to an end. Before she bursts right there, she turns from her reflection and kicks off her shoes.

"Sit with me," Tyler says, as if Josh's intent on getting comfortable wasn't clear. Josh gets on the bed, unmade like her own, and tucks her legs beneath her. Tyler raises her hand, and Josh presses their palms together.

"You have a dimple when you smile," Tyler comments.

Josh smiles. "Do I?"

Tyler nods, absent, and Josh kisses her. She wants it to be eager, rough, wants it to lead to _something_ , but it's slower, delicate, and Tyler parts her lips and _whines_ , and Josh hugs her, leaping forward to do so, arms wound tight, tight, tight around Tyler's torso. Tyler is on her back, and Josh lies on top of her.

"Josh," Tyler whispers. "Oh, Josh."

Tyler is shaking. Josh is frightened Tyler might slip between her fingers.

"What is it?"

Because of her jeans, Josh can't feel Tyler's toes as they skim up the back of her thigh. Even still, Tyler wears socks—no skin-to-skin contact. "I think this is going to work out."

"If you keep renewing my prescription, then we won't have any problems."

Tyler digs her fingers into Josh's sides and wiggles them. Josh screeches with laughter.

Someone knocks on Tyler's door, followed by, "Calm down in there."

Tyler blows Josh a kiss. "Do you wanna play _Mario Kart_ with my friends?"

"Okay."

*

They go to sleep early that morning.

Tyler removes their wigs and clothes, and they roll around on the bed, kissing and rutting like this is their first night together again.

When they wake, they stay in the bed and never want to leave, naked and running the very tips of their fingers along smooth skin, bumpy skin, rough skin, hairy skin. Tyler's eyes are heavy-lidded, and she leans in and sinks her teeth into Josh's bottom lip. It doesn't hurt. Josh lazily kisses Tyler, all the while allowing herself to smile.

"I have to go to work," Josh sighs.

"Me, too."

They redress. Tyler yawns.

"Don't be a stranger," Josh says.

"I'll do my best."

*

Josh works and texts Tyler.

Tyler works and returns every one of Josh's texts. She isn't a stranger.

*

When it reaches the weekend, they spend every waking moment together. It would be a lie if Josh were to say it was never dull because sometimes it is. Sometimes they have down moments, where they lie around on the couch and watch TV, not touching or aware of another presence in the room.

And that's love. That's love to Josh. It's love to Tyler, too, because no matter what expression is on her face, if she's upset or happy or just bored, her eyes are always bright when they are on Josh.

They're bright right now, her cheeks lit up by the neighbors' porch light. There's a gorilla on her shirt, a galaxy on her thighs, and a juice pouch with no straw dangling from forefinger and thumb. "Hey," she says, standing in front of Josh and getting a face full of marijuana smoke. "Open this Capri Sun for me."


End file.
